


Blue and Bronze Have Always Been My Colors

by AderaReam (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Learning About Magic, M/M, Muggle!Sherlock, Wizard!John, broomstick and wand jokes, coming out as a wizard, i will fight you on this, john watson is a ravenclaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:09:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AderaReam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock have been married a few months, but John still hasn't told Sherlock his big secret. When a bullet in Sherlock's shoulder brings everything to light, how will John weather all of the questions? And will his wand survive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue and Bronze Have Always Been My Colors

            Honestly, John was always planning on telling Sherlock eventually. He was almost sure he wouldn’t have to tell Sherlock anything, seeing as the bloody git prided himself on seeing everything, but, still, he wanted to be sure. If only the bloody man would sit still and _listen_ for two seconds, he would have done ages ago. He loved his husband, he really did, but said husband also drove him round the bend more often than not. Like when he runs off _strait into the path of a gun._

            The case was a great one by John’s standards. His husband was at his best, swanning around, making deductions, dashing from place to place. There had been many rooftop chases and breathless moments. But he _knew_ , he bloody well knew that the con-artist they had been chasing had managed to get a gun, and his genius of a husband had ran after him anyway, leaving the rest of them to trail behind.

            John saw the man in the light of a street lamp, and he had just shouted “Sherlock!” before the shot rang out and his husband crumpled to the pavement. The doctor skidded to a halt next to his husband and knelt down beside him checking the damage. The bullet had gotten Sherlock in his right shoulder and the wound was seeping blood. It was survivable, but Sherlock was fighting shock.

            John had treated many bullet wounds in his time in the army, but that was when he had his kit on hand. Now, he had nothing, nothing but his hands and his magic. Casting quick looks around to make sure no one was watching, John waved his hand, casting a Notice-Me-Not charm for the CCTV cameras and anyone who might happen upon them. Then, he turned his attention to his still bleeding husband. “This may hurt, a lot.” He said, and put his hand out, about a foot over the wound. “Accio, bullet fragments.” Sherlock yelled as the pieces of the bullet flew from his body and into John’s hand. “Episkey.” Thankfully, the bullet missed most of Sherlock’s bones, so the minor spell worked. “Vulnera sanentur. Tergeo.” And the last of the spells healed Sherlock’s gash and cleaned up the blood. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do for the coat and suit.” John grinned sheepishly and his husband, who stared at him. Sherlock blinked. Blinked again. As he opened his mouth to say something, John let the Notice-Me-Not spell fall and Lestrade came running up to them.

            “Blimey, what the hell happened?” The Detective Inspector asked. Sherlock opened his mouth again, but John cut him off.

            “Sherlock had a close call because the guy had a gun, we’re alright but he got away.” John gestured in the direction the con-artist had gone. Lestrade looked in that direction then back at the two of them. Rubbing his hand on his face he said,

            “Well, it’s good you’re alright. I’ll get my guys to search the area, yeah?” Lestrade huffed. “I know that I’m probably asking for the impossible, but could you two please wait for my officers next time.” Sherlock seemed to have gathered his wits by this point.

            “Maybe next time your officers shouldn’t be so slow. By the way, the person you’re looking for is a cross-dressing woman, 5’10, whose left leg is shorter than her right. She’ll walk with an uneven gait, that’s how you’ll find her. Goodbye, Lestrade.” He said, standing up and pulling his husband along behind him. “Oh, and tell my brother to leave me alone!” He called behind him, using his cab-summoning powers to instantly hail a taxi and get in. He gave the driver the address as John got in behind him.

            “So…” Sherlock started.

            “Sherlock, not now.” John barked, cutting his eyes to the cabbie and then turning and staring resolutely out of the window. Sherlock managed to hold his silence for the entire cab ride but was vibrating with the effort by the time they pulled up to Baker Street. Tossing some money at the cabbie, Sherlock bounded out of the cab and into 221B dragging John along behind him. Once the door was safely shut, Sherlock rounded on his husband.

            “What was that?” He demanded, verdigris eyes flashing. “You obviously have some sort of special ability but never displayed it before now.” He continued, stalking closer. John refused to back up and let his husband continue. “So is it new? No, you have a measure of control over it and confidence when you speak. It’s not new, you’ve been hiding it, hiding it from _me._ ” Now he just looked hurt. “Why would you hide something like this, something so… spectacular, and useful, from me? And how did you manage that? I think I would have noticed if you had healed me before like you just did, but what…” Just then, Sherlock heard a muffled sound from downstairs, more muffled than usual. “… John, did you do that too?”

            “Yes.” He didn’t bother to deny it, just opened the door. Mycroft was on the other side, hand poised to knock. “Won’t you come in, Mycroft? I would really rather not explain everything twice.” John closed the door, casting all of the privacy spells he could on it before shooting off some magic to the kitchen to make tea and sitting down in his chair. The brothers, rather stunned by this careless display sat down as well. “So, what do you want to know?”

            “Everything.” Sherlock replied immediately flicking his eyes towards the tea that was making itself.

            “You might want to be a bit more specific, love, everything would take an awfully long time.” John smirked slightly.

            “What is it, exactly, that you are doing? I saw you on the CCTV underneath the streetlight, and then you were just... gone.” Mycroft asked, head cocked slightly as he looked John over. "No, not gone, that's inaccurate. It was like my gaze slid around where I knew you to be."

            “Magic, a very useful spell, the Notice-Me-Not spell.” Mycroft thought he should hear a scoff behind the word, but it seemed John was serious. “And before you go on the whole ‘magic isn’t real thing’ let me remind you that one of your joint favorite phrases is ‘once you eliminate the impossible, whatever is left must be the answer.’” John stated, holding out his hand to take hold of the mug that had floated to him and taking a sip. Sherlock and Mycroft tentatively took their own floating cups.

            “How long have you been doing magic? Are you the only one? Is it a family thing?” Mycroft fired off.

            “All my life, no I’m not the only one, but I am the only one in my family.” John answered. Then he snickered, “Harry was spitting fire when I got my letter.”

            “Letter for what?” Sherlock asked.

            “My letter telling me that I was a wizard and was invited to attend a wizarding school. I was eleven.” John paused then added. “Before you get any ideas, Mycroft, I’m only allowed to tell you any of this because you are family now. That’s also the reason that I could never show you, I would have broken the Statute of Secrecy and the Ministry would be up in arms. You cannot” he gave them both a stern look, “tell anyone about this, and you can’t go asking around or poking your nose in it either.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, we’ve been married for months!” And there was the hurt look again.

            “I tried to find a good time but you don’t exactly make it easy to sit down and have important conversations.” Now, his husband just pouted, unable to contradict him.

            “So, what can you do with your magic?” Mycroft said smoothly, getting them back on topic.

            “Within reason, almost anything; I can’t kill or torture or mind control people, that’s illegal, but I can heal, give me a broomstick and I’m a great flyer, household spells and things I’m pretty good at, oh and I suppose there’s this.” And with that, John put down his cup and began to shrink. He shifted in his chair until there was a small tan dog sitting where he once was.

            “A jackal.” Sherlock breathed, staring at the desert dog that was his husband. Shifting back, John took another sip of his tea.

            “I’m a registered animagus. I can shift into a jackal whenever I want.”

            “Why a jackal?”

            “Who knows? One of my professors was a cat, and a few of my upperclassmen were a stag, dog, and rat.” John seemed contemplative at that.

            “So, you said killing, torture, and mind control were illegal, but it could still be done with magic?”

            “Well, yes, but we call those Unforgivable Curses. For obvious reasons.”

            “If none of your family can do magic, how is it that you are able to?” Mycroft asked.

            “No one really knows how muggleborns, muggles are you non-magical people, get their magic, they just do. And there are quite a few of us. If I ever had a child they would probably be a wizard too, because magic tends to breed dominant, usually.” John looked at the Holmes brothers, and they looked back. Mycroft seemed to come to a decision, put down his tea, took up his umbrella, and began walking towards the door.

            “I think I am through with questions for tonight, John, good evening.” And then he was gone. John and Sherlock looked at each other for a moment.

            “So… a broomstick, hmm?” Sherlock was deadpan for all of a second before he cracked. John giggled slightly.

            “Oh, don’t you give me that too! I got enough from my school mates for being good with my wand and on a broom!” John laughed.


End file.
